


The Tale of Will and Finn

by jpoabrahams



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Film, Romance, Scotland, Slow Burn, after the war, but will end up eventually in london at least partly, middle of nowhere, sort of cottage/cabin fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-09 05:12:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12880860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jpoabrahams/pseuds/jpoabrahams
Summary: Will Farrier gets lost in the Scottish Borders and Fionnlagh Collins finds him, and they go back to Collins' farmhouse for shelter before a storm hits. One night turns into a lifetime. Post-war and true to Canon.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is going to be reasonably long, and I'll upload as I write. It's true to Canon, but in saying that there isn't exactly a lot to go off, so I've made them acquaintances during the War, from the same RAF base but not good friends since Farrier was of much higher rank than Collins. Dunkirk was their first proper mission together. I've given them each backgrounds and names, William/Will Farrier and Fionnlagh/Finn Collins respectively. Happy reading!

Farrier gazed out past the lake onto the endless rolling hills covering the horizon in all directions. _Idiot_ , he mumbled under his breath, for he was in this moment, truly, an idiot. After a ‘creative crisis’ spanning several weeks, he had decided that he really needed to get out of London and explore more of the island he’d fought so hard to save. Some country air was what he needed.

Even just stepping off the train yesterday and filling his lungs with fresh, unpolluted air, he felt more at home than he had in months. After all, he’d spent the better part of the previous six years breathing in fresh French countryside air. Whilst his fingers had been broken more times than he can count, and he had more trouble hearing out of his left ear than he used to, he did miss the fresh air.

He’d signed up for the RAF after getting accepted to Christchurch College at Oxford. It was his father’s decision to apply, since Thomas Farrier was a well-known Historian and academic at the College. Whilst he did only want the best for his son, just because William Farrier had received the marks to get in to such a place did not mean he wanted to go. Then the War was declared. There it was, an opportunity not only for escaping the jaws of Oxford without offending his father, but also a way to serve his country and make a true impact. Will had always been an outdoors man anyway, flying suited him much better than university life ever would. Getting in the muck of it instead of arguing about theories that didn’t matter. There was something within him that awoke the first time he sat in the cockpit, and he would spend the rest of his life trying to chase that rush.

But at this moment, there was a more pressing matter. A rather large gust of wind had taken him by surprise and swept his only map and compass right into the lake. He could see the map sinking slowly beneath the surface of the water, but it was too far out of reach to snatch it back from the lake without entering it, and Farrier knew it was much too far into winter to touch the water without it resulting in hypothermia. Before this predicament, he was in the middle of coming to terms with the fact that he may, just may, have been lost. Now, he was most definitely lost. He hadn’t seen another person that day, and had lost all sense of direction after spending the previous two hours walking around the lake.

He swore again, before taking his heavy pack off and sitting down beside the lake’s shoreline to have a drink whilst he collected his thoughts. Hills. It’s all just hills and more hills. After sulking to himself for what could be considered unreasonably long for a man who’d tackled much larger problems, he decided that the best plan of action would be to climb to the top of one of these hills and see whether there was anything else but more hills. _If only I was in my Spitfire, I’d be gliding on past and be able to see everything for miles_ , he thought glumly to himself.

An hour had past by the time he made it to the summit of the largest hill he could see. Once at the top, he glanced around and around and around, but still only saw more hills. He had started to sweat from the climb, and given the temperature he knew it probably was not the smartest of decisions, but Farrier took off his coat and sat down to catch his breath. He was more exhausted than he initially thought, and rolled up his coat into a make-shift pillow. He estimated it was only early afternoon, and despite not knowing where he was, he gathered it would be okay to lie down for a few minutes to recover. _The sky was such a beautiful blue today_ , he reflected as his eyes finally soaked it in.

Suddenly, something wet slid itself across his face. Farrier opened his eyes to work out what on earth it was. When did he shut his eyes? He could not remember but evidently his lie down had drifted into a nap. His eyes adjusted to the light, the sun now much lower in the sky, and was met with a dog’s tongue going in for a second lick. Quickly he sat up before it had such an opportunity. A yellow Lab, just like the one he had as a child. The memory bought a grin to his face, and he gave the dog a pat, with its tail wagging madly behind it. But where had the dog come from? They were in the middle of nowhere. The dog looked behind itself as they both heard footsteps coming up from the side of the hill. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes were greeted with the sandy hair of a man slightly younger than himself coming up over the hill. The man stopped in his tracks when he looked up from his feet to find Farrier on the ground patting his dog. Their eyes met and Farrier swore he had never seen such an enchanting shade of blue in his life. Actually that wasn’t strictly correct, he’d seen it once before. It had painted the sky the first time he flew his Spitfire.

Hang on. He’d seen those eyes before too. Just a few times, but he’d never forget the shade of blue that reminds him of his calling.

“Ye ‘right down there?” the man asked, perplexed to as what Farrier was doing on the ground in this weather. “It’s you.” Farrier whispered so silently he barely heard the words leave his mouth. “Sorry?” the man began to question, however before Farrier got a chance to clear his throat to fathom a response, the saw the recognition flash across his eyes. “I… how…” the man stuttered, taking his turn to loose his tongue. Farrier quickly found his legs and stood up, taking his hand off the dog and put it out for the stunned man to shake it. “Collins, wasn’t it?” he stammered out as the familiar man took his outstretched hand. “Um… yes, Collins, Finn Collins,” the younger man replied, finally finding his voice.

The first time he’d seen those eyes, it had been from the other end of the mess hall during dinner one Thursday night. Fitzpatrick had made a joke and Farrier had looked away to laugh, but his laughter caught in his throat when he was met with the colour of the sky from the best day of his life. The eyes didn’t meet his, busy devouring the potatoes left on his plate, however Farrier did not look away until Fitzpatrick nudged his elbow, bringing him back to reality. “What? I’m not funny enough am I?” he asked in jest. Farrier looked down at his plate and chuckled as Fitzpatrick started rambling about the day he had training recruits.

Farrier looked for those eyes every meal for the next week, but eventually gave up hope. Until about a month later, when he found them searching at the end of the line for a seat to sit at. Farrier froze and was still drinking in the rest of the man when he noticed the man smile and start walking towards a group of what were presumably his mates on the left side of the hall. His heart sunk. As an officer of a reasonably high rank at the base, Farrier got to sit in a different section to the one in which the man headed. He watched the sandy blond hair disappear through the sea of brown hair, and that was the last he saw of him until the morning of 2nd June.

“So what the hell are you doing alone in the middle of the Scottish Borders?” Questioned Collins, seemly finding his voice again. “Creative crisis” said Farrier, as if it would answer the younger man’s question. Collins gave a small chuckle, “Although I’m both creatively and physically lost at the moment. I lost my map in the lake.” Collins grinned and gave a hearty laugh and as his smile reached his eyes Farrier swore his heart stopped, even for just a beat. “I see, well how about you come back with Charlie here and I,” motioning down to the Lab, “and I’ll crack out the maps and show you where abouts we are?”

“Yeah, yeah alright,” Farrier whispered on a breath out. “The farmhouse is a good hour’s walk away, but the only shelter around for miles, and there’s a storm coming so we better be off. Plus, I make a good brew if i do say so myself.” Collins smiled again, and turned back into the direction he came from and started back down the hill as Farrier’s legs carried him along not far behind.


	2. Chapter Two

_Eariler that day…_

The kettle whistled on the hob in the kitchen as Collins lit the fire in the adjacent sitting room, attempting to bring some warmth into the Scottish farmhouse. It was mid-December, and as Collins opened the door to let Charlie out he could smell the storm in the air. Although the sky was still blue, Collins could tell it was close, and that it was going to be a big one. Luckily he didn’t have anything particular to do today so he could give Charlie a good walk before the storm came, which could potentially shut them in for days. 

 

He sat down on the settee with his coffee and the newspaper, but instead of reading the articles he gazed at Charlie, now peacefully curled in front of the fire. What a nice life it would be to just sleep and eat and run. Collins had had a reasonably easy time through the War compared to a lot of others, but never the less his time in the RAF still haunted him, especially in the moments when it dawned on him that he was alone. He was well and truly alone now. Most of the time he liked it that way. His sister Ada was only an hour away in Edinburgh if he got really lonely, she and especially his three year old nephew Jack always made him feel wanted, even if it was only for an afternoon. They were the only ones left. Their father died just before the War, and their mother during it. The farmhouse they grew up in was left for the last 4 years of the War, apart from when Ada would come down with her husband Alexander for a weekend or two. When Collins had been discharged after the War, he came straight to the farmhouse and hadn’t gone past Edinburgh since. Since no one had truly occupied the house in years, Collins had returned to a slowly rotting family home that had once been filled with laughter and happiness. These days it only occupied a tired ex-solider/failing writer and his dog. Collins had gotten Charlie as a gift from the farm down the road when they worked out he had returned. He was like a son to him, and likely the only son he’d ever have. 

 

It was Charlie nosing his hand that brought him out of the past and back into reality. Collins folded up the newspaper and put it down on the settee next to him, to give Charlie a proper pat. With a deep sigh he stood up and went to find his coat and his wellies, as the yellow lab ran to the door. 

 

—

Collins had spent the better part of the last two hours in deep reflection as Charlie ran on ahead, sniffing and rolling in the mud. He made a mental note that Charlie would need quite the bath when they got back to the house. They were walking up a particularly steep hill, when Charlie suddenly broke out running up the remainder and disappeared. _Must be a lost sheep or something._ As he reached the top of the hill and looked up from his wellies, he found a man slightly older than Collins, sat on the ground patting Charlie with a huge cheek to cheek grin. When Charlie turned his head to look at Collins, the stranger looked up and his grin subsided as their eyes met. He seemed a little worried but simultaneously relieved.“Ye ‘right down there?” Collins questioned,but as he looked into the strangers eyes, he felt like he was going to be sick suddenly. _But… it can’t be him…_ Collins’ brain short-circuited.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY! I got carried away with work and thus haven't updated this fic anywhere near as soon as I intended to, so here's the next chapter! I'm going to try and do some more writing over the weekend so hopefully it will be updated again soon! This is my first ever fic or even just long piece of writing, so cut me some slack but i'd also love some feedback! happy reading x

As they walked side by side along the desire line that had emerged after a mile or two, Farrier finally saw the farmhouse in the distance. At first glance, it seemed to be quite large, however as they got closer he realised it had only seemed that way since there was nothing else in sight to compare it to. The house was a large, yet modest brick cottage with a stone wall fence surrounding it. The gate squeaked uncontrollably as Collins pushed it open, and Farrier did his best not to shudder at the sound. 

 

As they entered the house, Collins took off his boots, placing them on the shoe rack and prompting Farrier to do the same. Charlie lead the way further into the house and into the sitting room, tucking himself up on the settee. Collins’ grabbed some wood and lit a fire, and then strolled into the other room on the ground floor. Farrier didn’t know whether or not to follow, but then Charlie looked up at him, and he couldn’t say no. So instead of following Collins into what presumably was the kitchen, he sat on the couch whilst Charlie made himself right at home on his lap. 

 

“Still up for that brew?” shouted Collins from the kitchen. 

“Oh, yeah, that would be great thanks,” Farrier replied, now slightly preoccupied, determined to give Charlie the best pat of his life and getting rewarded with as many licks as he could give in return. Farrier looked up from the dog to study his surroundings for the first time. The dark wooden fireplace sat against the cream coloured walls, but the paint was flaking from parts of each wall in the room. On the wall to the right of the fireplace, was a tall bookcase overflowing with tattered novels, and next to it under a large window was a 1920s style gramophone, on top of a rectangular bookshelf crammed full of records. 

 

Farrier moved Charlie aside momentarily, much to both their dismay, and strolled over to the novels. If he was going to be here all night he may as well make himself at home. In his scanning his eyes stop suddenly as they glance over a series of Charles Dickens novels. He reached his fingers up to towards the spine of his favourite, Great Expectations. However before he can take it off the shelf he hears an awkward cough from behind, and turns to see Collins looking at him with a small smile. “Good choice, that’s one of my favourites” murmured Collins as he went to sit down on the settee next to Charlie, and the two steaming mugs that are now on the coffee table. Farrier lets go of the breath he was holding and takes the book off the shelf before attempting to cram himself into the small space between Charlie and the right side of the settee. 

 

“Charlie seems to have taken a shine to you,” smiled Collins as he stretched his arms up before reaching for his tea. “I used to have a yellow lab as a kid, Ada she was called” replied Farrier, with the slight undertone of nerves at the anticipation of making small talk with the younger man for the first time, not even truly aware if Collins knew of his existence previous to the mission over Dunkirk. “Oh, that’s my sister’s name,” Collins said. 

“It’s a nice name,” Farrier half-whispered awkwardly, not sure how to continue the conversation, or whether Collins even wanted to.

“Do you have any siblings Will?”

“No, just me. I, I did always wish for some though, would have made my childhood a little less stale. My father is an academic so he was never around that much and when he was there was not exactly a lot of laughter to be had, everything was always very serious with him.” Farrier nearly kicked himself. He had already been nervous and now he’d just taken the conversation on a downwards spiral. _Well done there mate, that’s sure to make the next 24 hours delightful._

“Oh, I’m sorry that must have been a hard upbringing. Certainly very different to mine,” said Collins, his soft smile now abandoned with the tonal change in conversation.

“Don’t be, you don’t need to apologise for the personality of someone you don’t know.” Collins offered a slight smile in return as a further form of unnecessary apology and proceeded to take a sip of tea now that it was cool enough to drink. Farrier did the same as a way to busy himself until one of them broke the silence. _Wow, he was right, he does really make some good tea_. In fact it was probably some of the best tea Farrier had drank in a very long time, better than his mothers, not that he’d ever tell her that. 

 

“So, what type of creative crisis brings you out into the middle of the Scottish Borders in mid-December?” said Collins, the curiosity and need for a change in subject overwhelming him suddenly. “Ah, well I’m a photographer now, and the smog of West London just got all a bit too much for me. Haven’t had the chance to get too much fresh air since France.” _Idiot, stop bringing the tone down._ Thankfully Collins either ignored or didn’t press the last sentence of Farrier’s, instead grinning back at him. “It’s nice to meet another creative person, I do a bit of writing here and there, despite it not being that good. It’s my therapy, gives me some release and a chance to unknot my brain.”

“I feel the same about photography, it gives me something to throw myself into. I’ve never actually met a writer before,” smiled Farrier. “What type of writing do you do?”  
“Novels mostly, I actually just got a publishing deal with a company in Edinburgh a few weeks ago. I have no clue what to actually write about though, now that it’s not just me rambling and will be a physical book people could buy.” Collins said anxiously, bringing up his hand to run up and down the back of his neck. “Congratulations, that’s an amazing step in your new career,” offered Farrier, “I understand that’s a lot of pressure though, I just got offered to show an exhibition of some of my work in a small gallery in London early next year, and I’m having a similar problem. I have a lot of photos that I like individually, but they don’t really mean anything collectively. I guess it all just got a bit too much, hence why I came up here, to try and clear my head for a bit and maybe get some inspiration that would contrast London.” Farrier finished his thoughts by starring up at the ceiling, noticing the same flaky paint that covered the walls. 

 

With the fire going and Collins busying himself with the newspaper he never got a chance to read, and Farrier nose deep in Great Expectations, the night drifted on in a now comfortable and relaxed silence. Farrier was surprised at how comfortable he was able to feel in a next-to-stranger’s home with a storm approaching, but he was happy never the less. This was exactly what he had needed.

 

Having been long since lost in thought, Farrier suddenly felt a slight nudge on his bicep and opened his eyes to see Collins nudging him awake from a nap. Farrier was a little embarrassed, but the look on Collin’s face eases him immediately, one of comfort and kindness. “I’ve set up one of the bedrooms upstairs, figured you’d be more comfortable up there. Plus, the storm is meant to last at least a day or two and I’ve got plenty of beds to spare so you don’t need to take the couch.” _A day or two_. Farrier surprised himself when he realised that he was excited at the prospect of spending more time with his host than he initially thought. He hadn’t meant to doze off, however he had had a rather long and eventful day, so he let Collins lead the way up the stairs and along the corridor to a reasonably large double bedroom. Farrier was still in a half-conscious state due to his nap, so he didn’t really get much of a chance to look around, only to utter a “thank you” to Collins, and hear a reply of “No problem at all, the bathroom is the door directly opposite if you need it,” before he left and shut the door behind him. Farrier took his shirt and trousers off, left only in his pants, before slipping under the covers and falling into the best sleep he’d had in a long time with the rain just beginning to patter down the window frame. 


End file.
